


I'm Here Now

by futurevampiress



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Comfort, Depression, F/M, Family Member Death, Mention of Death, Oneshot, death of a sibling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurevampiress/pseuds/futurevampiress
Summary: After three years of suffering alone, Bucky decides to change that.





	I'm Here Now

It’s been three years since your sister died. Your depression plummeted to an all time low, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your parents and friends. You were affected the most out of everyone, breaking down as you tried to power through your eulogy for her. It wasn’t easy living without her. Her room has since been converted into an office, but all her accomplishments and important memories have been saved onto USBs. Copies were given to your parents, and you carry yours everywhere you go. Looped around your neck, tucked into your shirt. You’d rather die than lose it because you have more pictures on your stick than your parents.

You’ve had a lot of time to cope and move on with your life since then, but whenever her death anniversary approaches, you get even more depressed. You hardly eat, you can’t get out of bed, you don’t shower, talking becomes a chore. You completely shut down, and lounge around in bed all day, either crying yourself to sleep or acting in a rage, tossing your belongings all over the place. You know it wasn’t your fault. But you blame the person that is.

The team doesn’t know anything. You were sure that Tony would have pried into your past to the last detail; maybe he did, and he’s just not saying anything out of respect, or maybe he didn’t pry at all. If Tony  _did_  pry and  _did_  tell the others, you’re sure that Steve or Clint would have tried to discreetly tell you that you can come to them about anything, like the dads they are (Clint, anyway; Steve is just very protective).

It’s not a topic you like to talk about. The psychologist was torture enough; you don’t need to talk about your feelings to earth’s mightiest heroes. While it’s true that you felt better after talking it out, you don’t know if you can do it all over again with the star-spangled spanx or the world’s sharpest archest. Out of everyone, talking to Wanda would be best, because she would understand you the most. She lost Pietro a while back; she can sympathize.

You were hoping that she’d be in the tower to talk about it. That was not the case.

You’re sure that everyone’s noticed your slackened behaviour. It’s not hard to miss when you’re usually smiling and joking around. But smiles are an invisible indicator to cover up the sadness. So, really, would they know happiness from its opposite? They’ve all got their own mental problems, so you hope they would.

You’re wandering around the tower by yourself. Everyone is either on a mission or are out doing mundane things. It’s sort of a relief for you. You can grieve in which ever way you think is appropriate. No matter what method you choose, tears are always a factor. They never seem to want to stop.

There are lots of things to do to distract yourself, but you just don’t have the energy. Just like how you didn’t have the energy to brush your hair, get dressed, or have breakfast. It’s a blessing that none of the team is around to see you like this. It’s the exact day of your sister’s death. Do they all know and they’re letting you have your space, or is it just a coincidence? As a lot of people say, there are no such things as coincidences. But you like to hope.

You wish at least Wanda was here to help you through this. You slept until one in the afternoon, so it makes sense that she wouldn’t be here. Or anyone. You just need a sturdy shoulder to cry on.

Still in your pyjamas, you grab your laptop and head outside onto the terrace. It’s a nice space, filled with marble stone and glass railings. The perfect place to control an alien army. The view of NYC is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. But not even the skyline can cheer you up.

Taking the USB from around your neck, you plug it into one of the ports. Turning the brightness up all the way on your screen, you select all the photos and press the space bar. Opening iTunes, you go to the playlist you made in your sister’s memory and begin to play it. Going back to the photos, you let them play in a slideshow, and hug your knees as you watch your life with your sister pass by.

It doesn’t take long before you’re breaking out into sobs. The mix of the photos and the emotional lyrics overwhelms you. Your eyes burn, and you can already tell they’re growing red. Your chest grows heavy and your nostrils get plugged up. You bury your face in your knees, and dig your nails into your arms. Your whole body shakes as you scream in frustration as you remember receiving the news.

_You were out with your friends dancing on a Saturday night, which you surprisingly agreed to. You weren’t much of a dancer. More of a bar sitter. But after a couple rounds of shots and glasses of vodka, you were practically stealing the attention of everyone on the dance floor. Being a lightweight isn’t a bad thing; you get to pay less for the alcohol and have just as much fun. What’s the harm in that?_

_You danced into the night, being smushed against the sweaty bodies of all the other people around you. Your heart was racing, and your laugh was loud. The music was louder, though. You could feel the vibrations of the speakers as they blasted throughout the club, sending your body into a frenzy. You decided that you were going to do things like this more often._

_Despite the power of the speakers, you could still feel your phone buzzing in your bra. The screen was covered in a sheen of sweat, and you hastily wiped it away before answering the unknown number._

_“Hello?” you shouted into the receiver. “Who is this? What? I’m sorry I can’t hear you! I’m gonna step outside!”_

_You managed to get past the throng of people blocking your way from the main entrance, and walked out into the breezy night air. You sobered up to sound like a normal person._

_“Sorry ‘bout that,” you laughed. “Could you say that again?”_

_When the officer on the other end explained to you what was going on, you could feel your heart stop. Your lips began to tremble, and your throat started closing up._

_“W-W-What… what do you mean she’s been in an accident?” you said, gripping your hair. “S-She’s… she’s been in her fair share of accidents before. She’s okay. She’s okay, right?”_

_The sad sigh you heard was not what you expected._

_“I’m sorry, miss,” he said. “But she’s-“_

_“No!” you shouted angrily. The tears were already hot on your cheeks. “She is not dead! Don’t you dare try to fucking tell me that my sister is gone! She’s not! She can’t be… She’s…”_

_You covered your mouth and went down on your knees as a sob escaped your throat. The officer tried to help you calm down, but you were far from calm. Your sister was alive. There was no way she’d end up dead. She’s almost been in a dozen accidents before; why is this one so different?_

_As you cried and shook on the concrete, one of your friends came out, looking for you._

_“_______!” she cooed. “There you are! I wasn’t su–_______? Everything okay?”_

_Your friend knelt down with you, and when she saw how upset you were she immediately wrapped her arms around you and laid your head on her shoulder._

_“Tell me what happened,” she said in a serious tone._

_“Sister’s been in an accident,” you managed to get out. “Again. But this time, they’re telling me she’s–“ You can’t even end you sentence. You don’t_ want _to end your sentence. Otherwise it’ll be true._

_“We need to get you home,” your friend said, pulling you to your feet. Your legs wobbled, and you clung to her for support. You vigorously shook your head._

_“No,” you said firmly, eyes filled with anger and determination. “Bring me to the hospital. Now.”_

_Without question, your group of friends brought you to the only hospital around. Your tears kept on flowing the whole car ride there, but once you arrived at the hospital, you wiped them away and put on a brave face. You still had hope._

_You barged through the front doors and demanded to see your sister. The nurse took one look at you and tread carefully._

_“What’s her name?”_

_When you gave it to her, she flipped through some papers and her eyes widened slightly. That didn’t go unnoticed by you._

_“What?” you asked, your voice getting higher. “What is it? Where is she?!”_

_“I’m sorry, miss,” she apologizes, her tone soft. “But your sister was DOA.”_

_You watched enough crime shows to know exactly what that meant._

_DOA. Dead on arrival._

_Your sister was gone._

_“N-No,” you stammered, the tears spilling over your cheeks. “T-That’s wrong. She’s not… she didn’t die! No. I can’t–you’re not telling the me the truth. S-She’s–“_

_You broke down in the middle of the ER, your friends doing their best to console you. An officer approached you, and knelt down with you on the floor._

_“Miss _______?” she asked._

_“What?” you cried. You didn’t know if you could trust your voice to speak._

_“I’m Officer Langdon,” she said. “I spoke with you on the phone regarding–“_

_“Yeah yeah, I fucking know,” you spat. “My sister is dead. Gone! Just like that! Thanks for breaking it to me! Again!”_

_“Miss _______,” she continued, “please, have a seat with me.”_

_You looked up at her, a silent plea in her eyes. You knew that you wouldn’t win that argument, so you nodded and took a seat against the wall, and pulled your legs up to your chest._

_“How did she… what happened?” you asked, rubbing the tears away. But they kept on coming back. She looked at you sympathetically, having seen this type of accident too many times before._

_“Your sister was driving home from a concert,” she said, folding her hands. “A drunk driver hit her head on. The fire crew had to use the jaws of life to get her out.”_

_You shook your head. You didn’t want to believe it. All this happened because one dumbass couldn’t call a taxi? You were filled to the brim with anger._

_“Her skull was fractured as the airbag went off,” he continued. “The paramedics managed to stabilize her on their way to the hospital, but it wasn’t enough. She–“_

_You put your hand up, not wanting to hear any more. You couldn’t take it. Your raging headache couldn’t take it, but more importantly, your heart couldn’t take it. Your throat had gone raw from crying so much, and your eyes stung. What once was one of the best nights ever, turned into the most horrible nightmare._

You peek up from your arms to look at the computer screen. The photos started from the very beginning: your sister holding you as a baby, progressing into you two as children, and into your teenage years. When it hit that stage, your heart lurched. There were so many great memories with her during that time. One of your favourites, actually. School aside, doing things with her like going to the movies and staying in a city overnight without your parents was exhilarating. You wanted to do it again. But you never got the chance.

The closer you look at the photos, you notice there’s a new figure in one of the pictures. When you focus on it instead, you realize that Bucky is standing right behind you. You quickly slam the laptop shut and wipe your tears away. How much had he seen?

“_______?” he calls out gently. “Are you okay?”

A stupid question to ask, but what else can he say in a situation like this?

“I’m fine,” you lie pathetically. “Just uh… Just, l-looking at the view.”

You and Bucky were the two quiet ones of the team. He was practically glued to Steve’s side, while you were just by yourself. You got along with everyone fine, but you didn’t really connect with anyone. But after a  _very_  late movie night with Bucky at two in the morning, the pair of you grew closer. And it was the first connection you made with someone after the death of your sister. You were afraid of losing someone important again, so you kept your personal life to yourself, only talking about practical and mundane things with everyone. You always felt like you could tell Bucky anything, because he’s been through some serious shit and would probably understand, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to drag him into aa problem that’s been a thorn in your side for over three years. He’s your closest friend; you didn’t want to burden him with your problems.

Unfortunately, Bucky won’t be letting that happen today.

Bucky sits down next to you with his hands linked together over his knees. Looking down at you, he can tell that something’s been bothering you for a while.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks. You can only shake your head. “_______. You know you can tell me something that’s bothering you. Did Tony do something again? Because I’m more than willing to–

“It’s not Tony,” you cut him off, turning your face away so he can’t see you. “It’s  _him_.”

"Him?” Bucky repeats, leaning over your shoulder to see who you’re looking at.

“He’s not here,” you whisper, feeling his body weight shift. “He’s rotting in a jail cell like he should be.”

Bucky gently places his hand on your knee, and you flinch a little. He doesn’t pull away.

“_______,” he says, “I don’t understand. Who are you taking about?”

“I’m talking about the asshole that killed my sister,” you spit, curling in on yourself.

Bucky’s mouth parts and he squeezes your knee. He can relate. He lost his parents when he was young; though he may not remember them well, there’s still a hole in his chest whenever he thinks about them. He doesn’t like the feeling, but feeling you shake is much worse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know.”

“That’s a surprise,” you snort. “I thought Tony would’ve told you guys everything.”

“He didn’t tell us anything,” he replies honestly. “Steve doesn’t know, or Wilson or Natasha. None of us knew, _______.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and look over your shoulder at him. His expression tells you he’s being genuine. And Bucky wouldn’t lie to you. You don’t think. You don’t even have the energy to suspect him of anything. You turn back around, hugging your knees again and setting your chin on top. You don’t make eye contact with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky suggests. You bite your lip, the tears coming back, like they always do. You shake your head and bury your face in your knees. “_______–"

“There’s nothing else to say,” you muffle from behind your legs. “She was killed by a drunk driver three years ago. What  _is_  there to say?”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says again. “But, _______. If you talk about it–”

“I’ve done enough talking!” you cut him off. You lower your voice. “I don’t mean to yell. I’m just tired and fed up, y'know?”

He wraps his metal arm around you and pulls you close. You lay your head on his chest, and bite your lip to stop it from quivering. The tears spill from your cheeks onto your lap, and Bucky comfortingly rubs your arm. He eyes your laptop, wondering if he should open it. He reaches his other arm forward, watching you to see if you’ll stop him.

You don’t.

He opens the lid, and the slideshow keeps playing, along with the music. He recognizes you in them, despite being a teenager then. He guesses the other girl that keeps popping up is your sister.

“Is that her?” You can only nod.

Bucky watches the slideshow in silence, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small when he sees how happy you were with her, and all the good times you had. You rub your forearms against your eyes, and bear through looking at the photos with Bucky. It feels a lot better to not endure it alone this time.

You manage to smile a little as the pictures pass you by. You can remember things easier when there’s a photo accompanying it. You’re glad you took so many.

“Y'know,” you laugh weakly. “She went to a lot of concerts when we were younger. She still does–did. She’d go by herself a lot of the time. She went to the same one three times in two different cities. She loved it.”

Bucky smiles softly as you recall some of the things your sister did that your parents didn’t necessarily like. Go to concerts alone, stay out past 3am, driving during the winter. But you also talk about the things you did together, and what things made you laugh. Bucky kisses your head the more you talk, glad that you’re talking to him.

“It’s ironic how the thing she had the most luck with suddenly turned sour,” you say, your face growing sullen. “They had to use the jaws of life to get her out. It reminds me of that one Simple Plan song.”

“Simple Plan?” Bucky repeats.

“You don’t know ‘em,” you mumble. “Lemme show you.”

You sit up and reach forward for your laptop. You set it on your thighs, pausing the slideshow and opening YouTube. Searching for “Untitled”, you click the music video and turn the volume up. You settle back against Bucky and let him watch.

“This is basically exactly what happened to her,” you whisper as the song progresses. The lyrics hit you hard, but the video makes it all more emotional. You sniffle loudly, wiping your nose and digging your fingernails into each other. Bucky furrows his brows as he concentrates on both you and the video. He can see your reflection in the screen with the same expression on your face: a mix of anger, sadness, and fear. He pulls you closer and continuously runs his fingers up and down your arm.

Once the video reaches its end, you’re surprised you’re not bawling. Your eyes hurt too much to produce any more tears, or you’ve become dehydrated. You haven’t eaten or drunk anything filling for a while, so that possibility can’t be far off. You close the tab, your screensaver now showing a group photo of you and the team. You smile at it, as does Bucky.

“I’m not in there,” he pouts.

“I can photoshop you in,” you assure him, snuggling into his chest.

“Or we can take another one,” he suggests.

“I’d love that.”

There’s a small silence between you two as Bucky tries to think of something helpful to say. He’s not good with words when it comes to consoling people who’ve lost loved ones. Except when it came to Steve. He always knew what to say. But everyone else… he’s had some trouble.

Nevertheless, he still thinks of something to say that will hopefully not make you feel any worse.

“You can come to me if you’re having really bad days,” he says, staring out into the horizon. “About anything. You’re having a bad day because you’re thinking too much, bad memories come up, you don’t feel good in general. If not to me, then in a notebook. I’ve done it a few times when I was feeling my worst. It’s better to get it out than hold it in.”

Bucky’s words make you smile, mostly because  _he’s_  the one that’s saying it. He hardly ever speaks in such a way to you, or anyone, for that matter. He’s usually as quiet as a mouse, speaking only when spoken to. Even though he’s your closest friend, you haven’t had any moments like this. Vulnerability. In  _your_  case, anyway. You’ve helped Bucky plenty of times, Steve being included in some of those. But today–possibly the worst day for the rest of your life–he’s the one helping you through this. It’s his turn to be the person to talk to, the person to spill your feelings, the person to cry on. And you’re forever grateful for that.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you say, looking up at him. “I have written things out in the past, but I just didn’t have the energy to write at times, y’know? My depression overwhelms me too much sometimes. I don’t want to get out of bed, or eat or drink. My energy level is in the negatives, and it’s not a great feeling. I just want to be left alone and wallow in my sadness.”

“But you don’t have to,” Bucky interjects. “We’re all with you for as long as you need us.”

“I know,” you agree. “But I think I just need the right person to talk to. And it just happens to be you.” You give him a small smile, and he returns it. “I’ve never spoken about my sister to anyone for years. The shrink was the only person I ever talked to. After that, I avoided it at all costs. There were too many ‘I’m sorry’s thrown at me and I couldn’t take it. I was gonna start throwing punches the next time a person came up to me and said that.”

“That’s what they can only think of to say,” Bucky comments. “They didn’t know your sister like you did. They don’t have much to offer other than their condolences and someone to talk to.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” you say. “And the one person I could talk to about it wasn’t there. She was laying in her death bed.”

“I’m here now,” Bucky breathes, tilting your head up. “You can talk to me.”

“That I can.”

He kisses your forehead and you settle down in his lap, and he strokes your hair as you share past memories with your sister. You have him laughing at some points, and making cheeky comments at others. You lightly slap his knee when his comments get  _too_ cheeky, but he has you smiling all the while. By the end, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“Bucky?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

He picks you up, being careful with your head. He carries you back inside and goes to the kitchen, gently setting you down on a bar stool. He digs in the cupboards and pulls out your designated cereal, pouring some in a bowl along with the milk. He shoves it in front of you and gets a spoon. You stare at it before looking back up at him.

“You haven’t eat yet, have you?” he asks. You go to answer, but you shake your head instead. “Please eat, _______. You’ll feel better. And help ease my mind that you’re taking care of yourself.”

You nod your head, and eat until all of it is gone. You shove it back, giving Bucky a small smile, hoping he’s satisfied now.

“When was the last time you showered?” he asks, looking at the growing grease in your hair.

“Five days,” you reply sheepishly, hanging your head.

“Time to go,” he says, pointing a finger at the bathroom. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”

“Bucky–“

“Please, _______. Please.”

The pleading look in his eyes is enough to make you slump out of your seat and head to the bathroom, grabbing two towels on the way. You head to your room to change when you’re done, and put your hair up in a bun. Bucky is still waiting in the kitchen like he said, except he’s changed his clothes as well, and is holding car keys.

“What are–“

“We’re going out,” he cuts you off, rounding the corner and taking your hand. Now, normally, you’d love to go outside with Bucky, but you’re just not feeling it today.

“Bucky, please,” you say, tugging his hand to get him to stop. His hair whips around his face when he turns to look at you. “I don’t think I’m up for this right now. I feel a little better after showering, but I just don’t want to go out today.”

“Just one place?” he pleads. “One. You know which one it is.”

You’re feeling ambivalent now as he discreetly mentions the one place where you and him always go whenever you get the chance: the conservatory garden in Central Park. It was one of the places you first visited when you came to New York. All you read was “garden” in the brochure and you went on your merry way. You showed Bucky a few months after you met, and since then, whenever you two needed to calm down, a stroll through the garden and looking at the flowers was enough to settle the nerves.

You know you can’t resist his offer.

“Sure. I’d love that.”

The smell of the flowers and trees are intoxicating once you two arrive. Now you know there’s no way you can’t  _not_  smile when you’re surrounding by nature and the presence of Bucky. It’s like getting seven chicken nuggets in a happy meal rather than four. You were not expecting it, but it’s a pleasant surprise.

You have your hands in your pockets as you walk down the concrete path, staring up at the twisty tree branches. It’s springtime, which means that the flowers are blooming and pink. The smile on your face is making your cheeks hurt, but you bear with it. It’s better than sitting in your bed all day. That fact only makes you smile more, and look up at Bucky. He sees you out of the corner of his eye, and stops.

“You okay?” he asks, noticing the tears welling up in your eyes.

You nod and blink them away before they can run down your cheeks again.

“I’m… better,” you reply, wrapping him in a hug. He hugs you back, resting his chin on your forehead. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

You feel at peace with Bucky as you hug in the garden. Maybe this particular day doesn’t have to turn out so bad after all. As long as you have Bucky, you know you’re going to be okay.


End file.
